


come feel me (on the dancefloor)

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Flirting, M/M, Post-Timeskip, Sibling Rivalry, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i just wanted akaashi to let loose hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Atsumu leans closer, mouth brushing the shell of Akaashi’s ear, breathing light against the side of his face. It smells like mint gum and beer. “You get me, don’t’cha, Keiji-kun?”
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87
Collections: Anonymous





	come feel me (on the dancefloor)

**Author's Note:**

> I basically just wrote this because I’m trying to learn how to write sexy tension. ANYWAY! This fic really doesn’t feel the same without listening to sexy music so here’s what I listened to while writing this I’d start listening to this once they enter the club:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1E8KLvzlwTmyhy  
> I skipped the songs I didn't like, though. And if you don't have spotify then I also recommend The Weeknd's After Hours album

The bar is a mess of colors, bathed in dim light, mixing dark reds and browns and black, grey, blues. The colors blend well with the noise; bottles clink, people laugh, the door chimes, and the bartender yells at someone. If Akaashi had the chance, he'd have brought a small Moleskine notebook to try and capture the feeling in words.

It's the first time he's been properly _out_ in a while. Lunches with coworkers don't count, he decides. _Konbini_ runs for the authors he oversees most certainly don't, either. 

He feels like he's in his early twenties again, where summer and heat used to be welcomed. Summer and heat used to be a sign of good times and meeting new people. Letting Bokuto and Kuroo drag him to whichever party called to them the loudest. Technically, that's exactly what they’ve done tonight. 

It's a huge group, to the point where Akaashi doesn't recognize at least half of the people here. It's Bokuto's birthday, and they've rented out an _izakaya,_ party rooms not enough to hold the sheer amount of people he wanted to invite. He can't party at his apartment; last time that happened he nearly got evicted. 

A month ago, Akaashi had suggested the idea of renting a space to him over the phone. Minutes later he was firing up his laptop, helping Bokuto look for a good venue. 

Unlike most parties Bokuto throws, this one had enough prep time for the guest list to double, triple, and solidify. The final plan ended up being for the night to start on Friday and roll out into Saturday as they moved to the club next door. 

Akaashi was relieved to see his hard work in motion. 

But he hadn't accounted for not _really_ knowing anyone who would show up. Sure, Bokuto _is_ his best friend. Sure, Kuroo and Hinata both showed up. Sure, there're a few Fukurodani club grads here, too. Sure, he saw Osamu’s signature black cap bob around the crowd a few times. Sure, Akaashi keeps getting pulled into group conversations before he even has a chance to take another sip of his beer. But, for the most part, he finds himself slipping back into silence, absorbing the room instead. He rests his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table in front of him.

A few people move and shift on his left side, but he doesn’t pay it mind until he hears a low "hey" through the chaos of the room.

"Oh, Miya-san. Hello. Are you enjoying yourself?" 

"Just Atsumu. And, well," Atsumu chuckles, hand lazily waving a bottle of Kirin, "I've managed to find a few small miracles here."

Akaashi turns his body so he can focus better, boxing out everything else that threatens to interrupt him. "Forgive me if I sound rude, but I figured this would be your sort of scene."

Something in the sentence makes Atsumu laugh again, smirk pulling on the corner of his mouth. Akaashi finds it charming. Weird. 

"More of a clubbin' guy myself. Heard that's where we're off to next?" 

Akaashi nods and takes a sip of his own drink, mirroring Atsumu, before replying. "Yes, just next door. Probably in," he checks his watch, "the next thirty minutes." 

He should remind Bokuto because it'll probably take an extra thirty minutes if he tells him on time. 

"Sounds good. So, Keiji-kun. Whatcha doin' over here instead of over there with the birthday boy?" 

He points to Bokuto with the mouth of the bottle. Bokuto is in the middle of getting a noogie from his captain. Someone is filming.

Akaashi turns back with a small smile on his face, "I'm not one to walk into that kind of storm. I'd prefer to not get doused with someone's spilt drink tonight." 

"Asking for a lot, there. Already got whiskey all over my shoe. There's so many people here, how did you two even find so many folks?" Atsumu asks. As if on cue, he's being pushed closer to Akaashi along the vinyl booth seat as the person to his left leans back in a laugh. 

Akaashi and Atsumu are half a lap apart now. With the sudden proximity, Akaashi gets a whiff of cologne and sports deodorant. 

"Case in point."

They keep easy conversation together, filling in the blanks of each other's lives in between past brief meetings. They each know a decent amount about each other. Akaashi has gotten much closer to the other Miya recently, and it's impossible to get that man to _not_ bring up his twin. Very endearing, both of them. Akaashi couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that Osamu hadn’t approached them all night. He thought he had been picking up on something between them. It probably doesn’t matter right now.

There’s something underlying the casualness, though. Maybe it’s from the eye contact Atsumu maintains, or the way he licks his lips when Akaashi takes a sip of his beverage. Regardless, somewhere along the way, Atsumu throws his arm over the back of the seat, and pulls Akaashi closer into his space. Akaashi has never opened up so easily before and he can't even bring himself to push back and assess the situation. The very last person he saw himself getting along with from the Jackals team was Miya, he has to admit. 

He seems crude and simple from afar. Overly vain. Unfounded confidence. 

Very quickly he realizes that isn't entirely the case. If anything, that confidence is completely warranted. Akaashi can feel himself melt down and wrap around Atsumu's pinky finger. Akaashi isn't the flirtiest, nor is he the boldest, but he definitely isn't the same stick-in-the-mud that he was in high school. He's aware of the wash of arousal in his belly and he's no fool to the brashness of Atsumu's smirk. 

He's about to scooch even closer when suddenly, Kuroo finger-whistles, capturing everyone's attention. He tells them, in that mischievous tone of his, that they'll be heading off to the club. Many people get up and follow the main group, while some stay back to finish their drinks. Atsumu and Akaashi make eye contact and come to some sort of agreement, standing up and side stepping between the tables. Akaashi brushes off imaginary lint from his black jeans. He suddenly feels nervous with all this space around him. 

As if reading his mind, Atsumu throws an arm around his shoulder. Another thing Akaashi never does: let near-strangers casually touch him like this. The way the feeling has heat shooting up his spine makes him wonder if he's touch-starved or if it's just the late summer air. 

It doesn't hit him just how comfortable he is until they've shown their IDs and are walking up a small set of stairs into the club, and Akaashi nearly slips. Atsumu catches him and says, "Can never trust stairs. Always up to something." 

Under normal circumstances, Akaashi would be focused on the way Atsumu's strong hands catch him by the hips, right behind him on the steps. But instead he's busy _laughing._ It's a surprised bark of laughter, makes his lungs vibrate. He slaps his hand over his mouth in shock. Holy shit.

Bokuto and Kuroo turn around in shock. He can see the gears turning in their heads, but before they have a chance to open their big, fat mouths, Akaashi pushes them through the door. They were holding up the line, anyway. 

Atsumu seems shocked, too, and makes it clear to everyone in a one mile radius that, “See?! I can be funny, it’s y’all that just don’t get me!” Bokuto looks over his shoulder a few more times in quick succession, trying to piece together what was just going on between his teammate and best friend. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is open a little. Akaashi thinks it makes him look silly. Was there something so wrong about laughing at Atsumu’s joke? It was clever. Akaashi can’t tell jokes like that.

Regardless, it’s too loud now to be questioned. Bokuto and Kuroo speed walk off to the bar while Akaashi lets himself stand between the dance floor and the door, and absorb the new environment for a second. If the cold air gave Akaashi a little bit of clarity, the immediate heat of the club throws him back under the covers of vague lust and interest. Atsumu still has a hand around his waist, though it seems like he had forgotten it was there. 

Atsumu leans closer, mouth brushing the shell of Akaashi’s ear, breathing light against the side of his face. It smells like mint gum and beer. “You get me, don’t’cha, Keiji-kun?” 

It’s like whiplash. Despite the way his heart thumps with nerves, he knows that if he lets himself think this through for even a second, he might run back the way he came and throw himself into a subway car and forget he ever let Atsumu dig his wide, rough fingertips into the divot of his hip. So, he doesn’t think. Akaashi can have fun. His friends are all busy, and he doesn’t want to be a burr in their collective side. He turns to Atsumu with his chin dipped and his eyes dancing with playfulness through thick, black eyelashes. He nods. 

Atsumu smiles something wild and pulls him slowly into the crowd. He can’t decide if he feels nauseous, turned on, or scared when Atsumu links their hands together and starts walking backwards. Their eyes maintain contact and, if not for it being entirely impossible, it would seem like Atsumu’s very presence splits the crowd. With every step, the music reverberates through the floor and up Akaashi’s legs, making his bones hum with the bass. Even if he wanted to, he can’t pull himself out of the daze that Atsumu is stifling him with; it’s one that holds his head underwater while the rest of him struggles. 

Distantly, he picks up the way the song fades seamlessly into the next, and the crowd flickers for a moment before becoming even more overbearing. The space that Atsumu had carved out for them is now saturated with bodies and it forces Akaashi to step closer, letting Atsumu’s hands slide up and sit back on his waist. They’re roughly the same height, and he can’t look anywhere _else._

Atsumu’s voice is back in his ear, pitched louder than before, but still so provocative that it gives Akaashi butterflies, “Gonna dance with me tonight?” 

He really can’t do anything but respond by stepping in beat, smile small and cunning and leading Atsumu’s eyes to lock in on it. 

They glide together easily. Akaashi has danced before; he’s been dragged across the country for nightclubs. He knows he comes across as a stay-at-home dad type sometimes, but the circles he’s found himself in won’t allow it. He knows how to move to a song, he knows it in the way Atsumu’s lip almost pulls up in an impressed snarl, and _fuck_ isn’t that hot? Atsumu looks at him like he’s prey.

Undoubtedly, Atsumu is a fox. Akaashi thinks that if he tips his neck back far enough he might be able to convince the wild animal to latch his teeth there and bite. He wants it badly. He hasn’t let himself get like this in forever and he barely finished his whiskey back at the bar. The leftover burn from the drink helps trick himself into thinking he’s further gone than he actually is. 

He watches Atsumu with his owl eyes and knows they’re both in the same boat. Their denim covered thighs brush against each other every once in a while and it sends Akaashi into a fit of fever. It’s a wonder his glasses haven’t fogged up. 

The song changes again, heavier and dirtier, and it does something to his dance partner. Akaashi is spun around and finds himself flush against Atsumu’s body. It knocks the breath out of him and he almost keels over a little, but strong arms force him upright and pull him closer, back to chest. The sudden constriction has Akaashi panicking so he thrashes a little. 

“Shh, shh, shh… I gotcha,” Atsumu says, biting at Akaashi’s earlobe. One hand comes down to pat his side like he’s taming a stallion, “just think about me. Can y’feel me, Keiji-kun?” 

Oh. Atsumu is grinding against him. _Oh no,_ Akaashi’s internal voice whines, _he’s go–od._ His thought process is cut off when he whimpers and finally leans further back into the hold. But, now that he can see out into the crowd, he remembers exactly where they are. No one’s watching them; the club had been rented out only for Bokuto’s event, and the people here are, for the most part, thoroughly fucked up from the pre-game. Still, there are thousands of reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this surrounded by strangers who could potentially ruin both of their careers. Despite this, he’s so blinded by lust that the only thing he can bring himself to think is that, if Atsumu isn’t worried, then it should be fine.

So Akaashi grinds back.

He’s rewarded with the sound and feeling of a low moan, so punched out that it’s satisfying. Maybe he isn’t the only one being pursued. Maybe, just as Atsumu has Akaashi on the flat, wet of his tongue, Akaashi has Atsumu in the close heat of his hands. He wants to take that Atsumu and _squeeze,_ wants to pick him up by his fox tail and toss him around. A little torture before he lets Atsumu swallow and eat his fill. 

The desire is easy to sink into, a thickness akin to lava. He reaches back blindly and cups the back of Atsumu’s head, fingers running through the near-platinum blonde, and pulls him closer into the nook of his neck. Atsumu takes it as an invitation to taste the skin there; he licks and kisses and grazes, making Akaashi shiver. Their hips and steps still move to the beat of the song, impressive considering Akaashi is close to just throwing his head back and closing his eyes. To give in.

His descent into a pit of filthy arousal is jolted and sped up by the pinch of canines at his pulse point. 

_“Fuck, Miya.”_ Akaashi grinds back harder, hand encouraging Atsumu’s face further into his neck. He needs that again, now. 

That horribly sexy, bouncing accent is back, thoroughly flooding his conscious brain, “Y’know, I didn’t think you’d throw yourself at me like this.” Oh, Jesus. Akaashi feels hot all over. His blood is singing. 

“O-Oh?” He replies, insightful brain out the window.

“Mhm. Thought you belonged to someone else. He told me it was hard to get a hold on you. Told him I could do better, ‘n now that someone’s mighty furious with us.”

Akaashi blinks away the blur from his field of vision and lifts his gaze. He doesn’t know who Atsumu could be referring to until he looks further into the crowd and sees Osamu coming closer, weaving through thickets of moving people who barely notice the jostle. Despite the many months getting to know Osamu, he still isn’t able to read his expressions. But still. The air feels good.

Setting aside any hesitation, he leans his head back again and flicks his tongue at Atsumu’s earlobe, “play along?”

He must be going crazy, completely off-the-wall and removed from the person he thought he was, but he still turns back around in Atsumu’s hold and looks over his shoulder. Eyes half-lidded, bottom lip between his teeth. Osamu is right there.

The dim overhead lights bathe the room in a sensual red glow and the bass is as dirty as ever as he feels Osamu ease him away from Atsumu's loose hold. Akaashi inhales sharply at the sudden challenge in Atsumu's eyes when he feels his back press against Osamu's chest. 

Akaashi’s steps falter for the first time that night.


End file.
